Loki's Holiday
by Mumarugia
Summary: A LEGO Marvel/LEGO Harry Potter crossover. Loki's on his usual annual holiday in New York, but what happens when a body falls through a tunnel skylight right in front of him ... and he recognizes the murder victim? Humorous murder mystery, six chapters long. Written for a friend, so contains some inside jokes which are explained within.
1. Monday

**Author's Note: **A few things need explaining in this story, as it was written for a friend and contains some inside jokes. We often play LEGO Harry Potter and LEGO Marvel together, and my favourite characters are Loki riding a bike and Pigwidgeon. Here is a list of things that may cause confusion in this chapter, in the order they appear: Ants often invade my house; Neep is the name of a Pathfinder RPG character I invented; I like to crash into cars and buses and stuff while playing LEGO Marvel as Loki on a bike (it turns them into convertibles).

Also, I'm mostly unfamiliar with Loki outside of LEGO Marvel, so if I make mistakes, be nice please!

**Monday**

As the swelteringly hot day drew to an end, Loki straightened and wiped his brow. He'd spent all afternoon battling with the army of swarming ants emerging from his living-room wall. If he didn't know that ants didn't care about anything beyond food, sex and the hive, he'd have sworn that they knew of his true identity as a supervillain.

It wasn't as if he was _hiding_ or anything. Oh no. The fact that his yearly holiday coincided with the capture of notorious trickster gnome, Neep, was a coincidence and nothing more. There was obviously _no way_ he felt threatened by that ridiculous little bard. In fact, Loki _liked_ his yearly holiday from the endless politics of Asgard (so much worse than human politics, where words were the only things thrown around). He liked it so much that this year he was extending it to a whole six days.

Six days of blissful refreshment. He had pictured shopping. Long walks by the seaside. Adopting stray dogs (and instilling in their minds certain key traits, such as postman-chasing and sweet-stealing). Building a tree house in Central Park, or maybe a mansion. Reconnecting with the guys from the Mafia over coffee and cake. He couldn't wait to hear the goss in the human underworld.

But _not_ this ridiculous sun. What about his chalk-white complexion? What if he got even the slightest tan, or, God forbid, a _freckle_? He could kiss goodbye to intimidating anyone in Asgard ever again. And he couldn't even go out with a parasol today – he was only female on Thursdays. It would look silly.

So he had kept the curtains drawn and had sat by the window, morosely blasting ants with his staff, all afternoon.

But now it was dark. Now it was time for the fun to begin.

Now, he could go _cycling_.

* * *

He could never really understand why most humans preferred to travel by car or bus or even by _foot_. What could possibly beat the gentle breeze that ruffled hair (or scudded over horned helmet) or the wicked thrill of bumping the roof off an odd bus or police car (because having a roof was just _so_ last year)? The terrified screams were a bonus. Those, and the escaping criminals. Really, he was doing everyone a favour: injecting excitement into the mundane lives of commuters, allowing criminals their freedom for a little longer, and providing employment for the police and car manufacturers of the world.

Yes, when Loki was on Earth, he was a reformed character – everything he did was for the good of the people. And he was one of the people, so if anything brought him joy, it was really for the greater good.

Peddling into a tunnel, he skidded up the wall, grabbing a horn as his helmet threatened to fall off. As he struggled to fix it back onto his head and cursed its awkward shape, he didn't notice a skylight in the tunnel ceiling cracking open, and _something_ being pushed through it, until it crashed right beside him on the road.

Loki stopped. He stared. He got off his bike, which stayed still, as if glued sideways to the tunnel wall. Because the something which had fallen from the skylight was a human body – and not just any human, but one Loki knew well. Stefan Rubowski, his contact in the Mafia.

The skylight clanged shut. Loki glanced upward, noticing the silhouette of someone running away. If only he could fly, he'd be able to find out who had dumped Rubowski's body right now. As it was, the culprit would be long gone by the time he made his way out of the tunnel and up to the skylight.

Who would want to murder Rubowski? Loki had known him for years. He was a stocky, cheerful man, the last person you'd expect to be researching and obtaining cutting-edge weapons and gadgets for the Mafia. He also ran a large joke shop in Manhattan, which was where Loki had first met him. His two jobs complemented each other surprisingly well.

A cursory examination of Rubowski's body showed no obvious cause of death, but he had no pulse. Loki decided to put the body on his handlebars and cart it home. This would need investigating. He would need a new Mafia contact. To find out whether they were still trustworthy. And a new source of itching powder for Thor's underwear.


	2. Tuesday

**Author's Note: **Things that may cause confusion in this chapter: Pigwidgeon wears a cute little aviator's helmet and goggles in LEGO Harry Potter and he can't fly, he just hops along flapping his wings. (he's also about waist high, but I prefer him being teeny and fluffy); Loki always has the Casket of Ancient Winters in LEGO Marvel, so he always has it in this story as well.

**Tuesday**

Loki woke up early on Tuesday morning to the horrible feeling of a ray of sunlight shining directly on his eyelids and a strange tapping noise at his bedroom window. He pulled the covers over his head, trying to evade both the sunlight and the noise. Probably some human contraption his neighbours were using, he thought. Like the lawnmower they had last year. They were very confused when they found that encased in a block of ice in the back garden, especially as they had been using it not ten minutes before.

But there was no escaping this awful tapping noise. Now it had been joined by a kind of muffled rustling – and was that a hoot?

Moaning, Loki sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He heaved himself out of bed and groped his way to the window, accidentally standing on Rubowski's stomach along the way. "Sorry," he muttered, "not a morning person."

At the window, he squinted through the gap in the curtains. He couldn't see anything, so he steeled himself for sun damage and threw the curtains wide. There was still nothing there. Leaning closer and squashing his nose against the glass, he looked around –

and was suddenly confronted by an alarmingly close-up view of an owl's face. Before Loki could move, the owl pecked the glass again (he felt the reverberations in his nose) and dropped out of sight. It was fluttering up and down, pecking the glass whenever it was high enough. This must have been the source of the strange rustling-and-tapping noise.

Loki, seriously annoyed that he had got up this early because of a pathetic little owl, yanked open the window, steeled himself for the excessive amount of ultra-violet radiation outside, stuck out his arm, dragged the owl inside and pulled the window and the curtains shut, making sure that there was not the slightest crack between them this time. He made a mental note to put blackout blinds on his Amazon wish list. He'd send Odin a link next November. The god was loaded.

He rounded on the puffball of feathers he had allowed inside his home. It was the tiniest, fluffiest and least aerodynamic owl he had ever seen. But that wasn't the strangest thing about it. It appeared to be wearing a minuscule leather helmet and goggles on its head.

Loki could not believe this. He was suspicious. But he didn't even know what to be suspicious of. Why would anyone try to infiltrate his home with an owl dressed up as an aviator? It was all too outrageous.

Staring at the owl, trying to figure this out, it occurred to him that it looked very familiar. He was sure he'd seen this thing before... somewhere... on Earth?

Recognition came when the owl hooted, flapped up to a height of about two feet, and crashed back down to earth. Of course! This was Rubowski's bird! He'd seen it a couple of times when he'd paid a visit to his apartment to pick up some more ... unusual ... merchandise. Rubowski said he had taken a shine to the creature's happy-looking face and eccentric dress sense. Loki couldn't understand why anyone would want a bird that couldn't actually fly. Give him a white raven any day.

The bird – Rubowski had called it Pigwidgeon – hooted serenely, gazing up at Loki. Loki gazed back at it, trying to figure out why it was here. Was it a spy? Had the murderer sent it? How could something that tiny be a spy anyway?

Frustrated, he grabbed the piece of fluff, which twittered indignantly. It was so small that he could grasp it in one hand. Holding it between two fingers by the scruff of its neck, he peered between its feathers, examined under its wings and prised off the helmet to check for possible bugs. Finding none, he relinquished it and flopped onto his bed, mystified.

Pigwidgeon fluttered down to the floor, landing on Rubowski's forehead. He stared for a second, then seemed to recognize his previous owner. He began hooting shrilly and pecking at his hair. After some time, his pecking slowed. He uttered a confused-sounding hoot and turned to look at Loki accusingly.

Loki didn't notice. He was deep in thought. Pigwidgeon launched himself at him and started trying to eat his nose. "Hey!" Loki complained, "I didn't do anything, OK? That dead body just happens to be in my bedroom! Look at me – don't I just look like the god of innocence?"

Apparently the owl didn't agree. It kept pecking painfully at his nose.

"Augh!" Instinctively, Loki reached for the Casket of Ancient Winters (he slept with it under his pillow, naturally – whenever it got too hot he could generate a nice ice cube to keep him cool) and blasted Pigwidgeon. Immediately, the owl stopped moving and fell to the floor with a tiny clink.

Loki didn't want ice melting all over his lovely carpet, so he put the small block in the fridge's ice box. Finally, he could get on with what he actually wanted to do today – figure out who had murdered Rubowski, and why.

Returning to his bedroom, he flicked on the lamp (_hoping to shed some light on the matter_, his brain helpfully supplied). Rubowski's body was where he had left it, although his head was now surrounded by a dusting of ginger hair and he had suddenly developed a widow's peak.

Loki set himself to the task of finding out as much as possible from the body. He rifled through Rubowski's pockets, finding a few dice, his phone, his wallet and a glossy purple leaflet.

The dice were ordinary-looking. Loki shook them, poked at them and threw them inside. He soon figured out the password to Rubowski's phone. Hmm. Six missed calls from Tom Skinner, who Loki happened to know was Rubowski's boss. Had Rubowski gone missing in action?

The wallet was also empty of anything incriminating. Credit cards, debit cards, library cards, loyalty cards for various supermarkets, pharmacies and other shops, several driving licences and international ID cards, some cash...

Finally Loki turned to the purple leaflet. It bore the slogan U-NO-POO, emblazoned on the deep purple in bold yellow capitals.

U-NO-POO? U-NO-POO? What?

Loki stroked the paper, which was thick, smooth and expensive. He turned it over, to find another proclamation on the other side. This one read EVER AGAIN. It had been harshly scraped into the back of the leaflet with a fading ballpoint pen.

U-NO-POO … EVER AGAIN. Loki could gather nothing from this, except that Rubowski had possibly had toilet problems. Which was probably not something that he, as a distant acquaintance, would have known.

There was nothing else in Rubowski's pockets, so Loki started looking instead for the cause of death. Peeling off Rubowski's pants, he was confronted with a horrible sight. Well, what would have been a horrible sight to a human. Loki didn't really flinch away from physical horror – not when it suited him, anyway.

Rubowski's rear end had been mangled beyond recognition. It no longer looked human. It didn't resemble anything any more, really, but if Loki was pushed, he'd say it looked most like a badly burnt marshmallow made of human flesh, skewered on a stick. The stick was still there, actually. Loki extracted it slowly, trying not to look at the lumps of meat and dung dropping on to his precious carpet.

He continued scanning the body, but could see no other signs of harm. It looked as though a red-hot poker had been shoved so far up Rubowski's bum that it had punctured a vital organ and he had bled to death internally. Loki snorted softly. An ignoble death, even for a human.

It was difficult to tell whether Rubowski's murder had been orchestrated by the Mafia or whether it had been at the hands of someone else. Death was rarely a coincidence in the human underworld. Loki was familiar enough with it to know that murders generally occurred when a member of a gang became a liability. He also knew that the ringleaders were usually smart enough to take care of the liability themselves before anyone else could exploit it. The boss, Skinner, could easily be the culprit and the eight missed calls an attempt to track Rubowski down.

However, when the Mafia killed, they did so furtively. They didn't do it in this loud, flashy way, with such an unusual and personalized method. They certainly dumped the body somewhere a bit less obvious than the middle of a New York highway.

Then, these inconsistencies could be red herrings, designed to entice the police away from professional killers like Skinner and towards an insane individual with a vendetta against Rubowski.

As of yet, Loki didn't know. But if he called Skinner and played the conversation just right, he might pick up a few more ideas.


	3. Wednesday

**Wednesday**

Knowing that Skinner was an early riser and that he didn't like being bothered halfway through his work day, Loki waited until the next morning to contact him. In any case, he needed the time to plan how the conversation was going to go.

At seven a.m. the next morning, Loki was up and dressed, cursing his luck at having to wake up this early two days in a row. On his holidays, no less. It just wasn't his week. He sat at a desk, surrounded by crumpled-up pieces of paper leftover from yesterday's planning process. OK, maybe he had over-analysed this just a _teensy_ bit, but he was bored! Anyway, manipulating people was fun. He had bet himself that he couldn't make Skinner talk about giant anteaters within five minutes of answering the phone.

There _were_ far more interesting things to trick people into, but he couldn't risk putting Skinner on edge.. Humans were very sensitive to anything out of the ordinary. Some people on the street had even said that his helmet was strange the other day. The nerve! When you look at the get-up Thor ran around wearing, and everyone loved him!

In any case, he needed to get this over with. He used Rubowski's phone to call Skinner, figuring he'd be more likely to pick up if he recognized the number.

It rang. He heard Skinner's gravelly voice.

"Rubowski? Where the fuck have you been?"

"Rubowski's dead, Skinner. It's Sanders."

Loki always used a false name when dealing with these people, and he figured an inconspicuous one was best. If someone was trying to track down the Norse god Loki on Earth, they wouldn't go looking for a Herbert Sanders. Not right away anyway.

There was a pause.

"... Sanders. How do you know he's dead?"

Skinner's voice was toneless. Giving nothing away. He could be hiding anything: surprise, guilt, suspicion.

"I found his body. More accurately, it almost knocked off my helmet while I was cycling around Manhattan, but that's another story. Anyway, what do you know about this? What was with all his missed calls from you?"

"He was on a job. I called because he was late and I wanted the stuff he was picking up... Look, Sanders, I can't be sure this is you. Let's meet in an hour in the usual place. I don't want to discuss this over the phone."

"All right. See you then."

Loki hung up and pouted. He'd lost his bet. He would have been able to do it if Skinner hadn't been so cranky.

An hour later, Loki was sitting outside a tiny café that served abysmal coffee. He took a sip of the liquid he'd been forced to buy and grimaced. Why couldn't the Mafia own a place that served nicer coffee, or fire the barista, or something? Where were their priorities?

Skinner turned up a few minutes later, looking ridiculously on edge for the occasion. What an amateur. No wonder the Big Bads had stuck him behind a desk. Loki waved cheerily at him, enjoying his squirming.

When Skinner sat down with his cup of … stuff ... Loki slapped Rubowski's phone on the table in between them. "There," he said, "now you _know_ it was me on the phone. If you needed any further convincing. So, let's get down to it. Did you kill Rubowski?"

Skinner looked confused. "Wh … I didn't. Why do you suspect me?"

"I know you Mafia types," Loki continued. "You don't hesitate to wipe out your own if it suits you. Do you have any idea why Rubowski was killed?"

"Not by us, anyway. He hadn't done anything wrong." Skinner looked genuine enough, and he was such a bad liar Loki believed he was telling the truth. "He was on his way to London, to check out some stuff we had there. In fact, it's an inconvenience to us that he's dead."

"I see. And you've no idea why anyone would shove a poker up his ass?"

"Wh-what?"

"That was the cause of death. I've taken a picture if you don't believe me. It's there on his phone."

Skinner examined it, looking mystified. He scrolled to the next photo stored on the memory card, which was a picture of the purple leaflet.

"And do the words U-NO-POO … EVER AGAIN mean nothing to you?"

"No. Sounds like an unpleasant threat."

"It does … It does seem like the kind of murder designed to be a message, rather than a simple kill. You've no idea whatsoever?"

"None."

Well, there was nothing more to be gleaned here. Loki stood up and strode away, wondering what his next move would be.

"Wait!"

"What?" What did Skinner want now?

"You haven't paid for your coffee. And I'm not going to either. This isn't a date, I hope you know."

Loki turned, cape whipping around him, and left a pile of coppers on the table for Skinner to sort through. Immature, yes, but he was annoyed. He'd got absolutely nowhere. The murder didn't seem to have anything to do with the Mafia at all. But how could it not? How many potentially lethal things could Rubowski have been involved in?

His only lead was London. So London it was. He needed to move on anyway, to find a new joke shop. God knows he'd combed New York thoroughly enough before finding Rubowski's place. There was nothing _here_, anyway. An English sense of humour might be just what he needed...

After London he might try Haiti. He'd only ever dabbled in voodoo briefly in his youth, and it was always a good idea to keep one's methods fresh. Although Odin might disapprove of herbal witchcraft a bit – he always liked to keep things traditional.

Loki booked a flight to London Heathrow that evening. He did a quick Google search of U-NO-POO, but found little that was useful. Mostly catchy ads for constipation aids, which for some reason were usually accompanied by hourly rates for the higher-class kind of prostitutes. Loki shuddered. Humans.


	4. Thursday

**Author's Note: **I have heard that Loki's gender is fluid, so in my story he is female on Thursdays. Baby dinosaurs are another inside joke. They have no teeth.

**Thursday**

Loki woke up a few minutes before his flight touched down. Stretching and yawning, he noticed that there was something a bit … off … about his body. Must be the boobs he'd grown overnight. Loki didn't like to boast, but his female figure was _very_ striking by both humans' and gods' standards.

The businessman beside him was staring fixedly at his laptop screen, looking very embarrassed. Loki grinned. He must have seen him settle into his seat last night as a man, and wake up now, very obviously female. He'd never played _this_ kind of trick with his gender swap before! What fun!

Loki stretched again, shifting his hips in the narrow seat, making sure they collided with the man's thigh. The discomfort in his expression deepened and he gazed even more determinedly at his laptop screen, not seeming to notice that the episode of _Game of Thrones_ he'd been watching had ended about thirty seconds ago.

Loki reached into his hand luggage, thanking God he'd remembered his make-up. Even if he only used it for this. He took out a tube of lip gloss and a small compact mirror and carefully applied a layer of deep pink to his lips, trying not to laugh at the poor man next to him. Every so often, he would glance in a panicked way in Loki's direction and quickly back to his laptop again, as if he really couldn't believe his eyes. Time to put him further into his misery.

Loki pressed his lips together and pouted in the mirror, then turned to his neighbour. "What do you think?" he asked, in a slightly more breathy voice than he would usually have used. "Does this lip gloss suit me? Is this my colour?"

The man, now in no doubt that Loki had either been female all along or had undergone some kind of miraculous seven-hour sex change, goggled at him. "Uh... um... sure. It's very … nice."

"Are you sure? Do you think a red might suit me better?" Loki turned to the mirror again. "I have this gorgeous deep sparkly red that one of my exes gave me once … wait a second, I'll dig it out …" He dived into his bag again, leaving the poor man looking distinctly unhappy.

At that moment, the plane touched down. The man beside Loki stuffed his laptop back into his hand luggage, undid his seatbelt and bolted out of his seat in record time, while the plane was still moving. Loki didn't have to pretend to pout this time. That had been _fun_!

Soon, he was standing outside the front door of the airport. It was just as sunny here, and he was glad he'd remembered his parasol. It was a dark silky green which matched his cape perfectly.

He decided to catch the next bus into London, find a hotel and change clothes. It was lucky he was female on the day he needed to gather information about his murderer and U-NO-POO. He had quite the range of _persuasive_ female outfits...

A few hours later, Loki was standing on a busy London street, dressed to kill. (Metaphorically. He did have a few outfits for literal killing too, but he hadn't brought those.) He sauntered around the busy shops, eavesdropping on conversations while he decided what to do next. What was the best way of finding out the source of the purple leaflet? Obviously, it wasn't common knowledge, since Google had revealed nothing about it. It would be both stupid and unhelpful to go waving the leaflet around and asking questions about it. Who knew what might be protecting the source of the leaflet? No, he would have to be careful here. This needed thinking about.

He was in the middle of a crowded, sunny street, deep in thought, when someone bumped into him. A tall, lanky boy with hair as red as Rubowski's, who after bumping him stared a little too long at his cleavage, which was, in his defence, _very_ on show. Loki stepped out of his way, mildly irritated, as a red-haired girl pulled on the boy's arm.

"Come on, Ron, stop staring at that poor woman's boobs. She's no Veela."

_Excuse me?!_ thought Loki. Whatever a Veela was, he was definitely as attractive as one, if not more!

An older red-haired woman (how many of them were there, anyway?) called back, "We'd better hurry if we want to catch Fred and George before lunch … I can't believe they're carrying on with business at this time. And with products like U-NO-POO! Honestly..."

_U-NO-POO? _Loki's head whipped round. Luckily, the red-haired bunch didn't notice. They were all striding away and disappearing frighteningly quickly into the crowds. Loki hurried after them, desperately hoping they wouldn't notice him so close behind them. He was so easy to spot, especially as two of them had actually stopped and looked at him! Why had he worn such an eye-catching outfit? Well, he knew why, but it was still inconvenient!

He knew the sensible thing to do. Put away the parasol. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. He could feel the sun taunting him from beyond the shade, threatening him with _brownness_ and _freckles_ and _melanomas_... He couldn't!

So he hurried after them, hoping that he just looked like an eccentric (but still very attractive) young Londoner.

The red-haired family led him to a street a little away from the busiest part of the city centre. The crowds were still there, but it was possible to discern separate groups and individuals within it: it was no longer a single entity. For Loki, this was a huge disadvantage. A lone walker that wasn't rushing and/or dressed in a suit? He stuck out like a sore thumb. This had better not continue much longer, or he'd be found out.

The red-haired family looked up and down the street, then disappeared into a tiny, dark and shabby pub. Loki blinked. He could have sworn that the pub hadn't been there a second ago. But there it was. Perhaps he had been too fixated on following the red-haired family.

He knew that as soon as he entered the pub, they would recognize him. It looked far too small and unfrequented to be the kind of place where he could blend in easily. As quickly as possible, he twisted his hair into a bun, wiped off his lip gloss and (gritting his teeth) put away his parasol.

The sun assailed him. He started to sweat. He could feel every pore in his body protesting against this violent treatment. He squinted at the shabby pub across the street. It hadn't been so far away a minute ago, had it? He took a step. His clothes chafed in a new and unpleasant way, sticking to his skin, which was starting to sweat. Taking a deep breath, he began to cross the road.

He could barely see through his slitted eyes. Bins loomed up at him. Shadowy people bumped into him, leaving him even hotter than before. His skin broke out in a light flush. He swore he felt his feet swelling.

Finally, he reached the shade of the pub, panting after his ordeal.

It was much cooler inside. His eyes adjusted slowly to the light. He peered around the gloom, seeing no heads of flaming hair anywhere inside. Hmm. Where had they gone? He saw another person emerge from a door directly opposite him and exit the pub. Maybe they had gone that way?

Loki noticed the barman staring suspiciously at him. This must be a place with regular customers. He smiled and nodded at him, hoping this was enough to placate him, and left the place by the other door as quickly as possible.

The tiny yard beyond was blazing with sunlight and a horrible smell was coming from a bin in the corner. Loki squinched his eyes and nostrils shut and noticed that the red-haired family were disappearing through an archway in the brick wall opposite. He followed.

The alley beyond was overwhelmingly hot. Loki was dying to take his parasol out, but he resisted. He knew it was much too recognizable. He fixed his eyes on the red-haired group ahead and plodded after them, keeping his head down against the glare.

_My forehead is going to be as burnt as Rubowski's behind_, he thought irritably. He hoped Rubowski was taking note of everything Loki was doing for him from the afterlife. He deserved some good karma for this!

Loki was so fixed on the sun and on tailing the red-haired gang, he didn't notice just how strange his surroundings were. People were hurrying past with their heads down and hoods up. Many of the shops were covered with huge posters advising on security measures and wanted posters. Some were boarded up. However, none of this concealed the names of the shops, which were extremely weird in themselves – Eeylops Owl Emporium, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Quality Quidditch Supplies …?

Blinking, Loki realized that the red-haired gang had entered a shop. A shop that was very different to all the others surrounding it... One window was full of joke items: some classics that he recognized, like whoopee cushions, fake messes and card tricks, most entirely new... The other window was covered by a massive poster which read 'Why Are You Worrying About You Know Who? You SHOULD Be Worrying About U-NO-POO – the Constipation Sensation That's Gripping the Nation!'... The entire vision was crowned by a banner which read _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_.

Loki was too stunned and delighted even to grin. It looked like both of his quests were over.

* * *

Stepping in the door, Loki gazed in wonder at this Mecca of trickster's products. The walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with colourful boxes and objects, all promising spectacular results. It made his head spin. He had never seen so many things he could throw at Thor.

Dazedly making his way through the shop, Loki bumped against the red-haired girl. He didn't see her puzzled look.

"Ron, isn't that that woman you were ogling earlier? Did she follow us?"

"Don't be silly, Ginny, that woman had a totally different hairstyle. Look, they've got new stuff! 'The Baby Dinosaur: your friendly companion through thick and thin! Guaranteed to turn all owl-, toad- or cat-owning friends green with envy'."

Loki fought his way to the counter. Unlike the alley outside, this shop was teeming with people, all of which seemed to be making an incredible amount of noise – or maybe that was the products themselves? Managing to attract the attention of the sales attendant, he asked to speak to the manager. Frowning, she led him into a quieter room at the back of the shop and told him to wait until she had found Mr Weasley.

A few minutes later, a red-haired young man entered the room. A man who was the _spitting image_ of Stefan Rubowski.

Loki jumped to his feet. He couldn't help it, he was so surprised. "You!" he gasped. "What do you know about this murder?"

Mr Weasley – presumably it was him – looked confused. "Murder? This is a joke shop. And if you _are_ joking, it's terrible and please stop."

"Look, it's – I'm just – oh, I'm so confused – you look _exactly like_ an acquaintance of mine who was murdered just last week! And this is what I found in his pocket!"

Loki dug the purple leaflet out of his handbag and extended it to the other man with trembling fingers. Yes, he was falling apart a little, but could you blame him? It had been a confusing week, _and_ he was a woman today. Besides, anyone would fall apart a little in this situation. It just made him more believable.

Mr Weasley took the leaflet and studied it. "U-NO-POO … EVER AGAIN," he read. "This came from our shop. And you found this in your friend's pocket? And he was murdered?"

Loki calmed down a little and explained the entire situation to the man (leaving out the part about the Mafia, just in case this guy was one of those irritating law-abiding types). He relayed the story of his week so far: finding the body, tracking Rubowski to London and his luck in finding the source of the U-NO-POO leaflet.

Sorting through the facts in his own head, Loki was even more confused. This man and Rubowski were basically twins. They both owned joke shops. They looked almost the exact same. They lived in different cities … but Rubowski had recently been in London. Had Weasley murdered him to eliminate the competition? Surely not. Surely New York and London were far enough away for the two shops to coexist.

While Loki was thinking, Weasley had been studying the leaflet and rubbing his chin. He called for the other manager of the shop, who turned out to be another Weasley, _and_ yet another double of Rubowski and the first Mr Weasley! What was going on? Was there a cloning factory hard at work somewhere, dedicated to keeping the red-hair gene alive?

The twin Weasleys – they must be twins, Loki decided – conferred quietly for a few minutes. Loki was too deep in his own thoughts to point out how rude this was, something he would normally have enjoyed greatly.

They turned to Loki. One of them said "We have a theory about this. We're not sure if you'll believe us, but – we think this murder is a case of mistaken identity."

Loki thought about it. Pieces started fitting themselves together in his mind with lightning quickness.

Mr Weasley was still talking.

"From what you say, the murder victim was very like us, in his job and in his appearance. And he was in London a short time ago. We think someone might have been aiming for us and traced the wrong man back to New York."

Of course. _Of course_. This was why Skinner had been so mystified. And why the death hadn't seemed to match any of the normal patterns of a Mafia death. It was because it _wasn't_ a Mafia death. The U-NO-POO … EVER AGAIN message and the murder weapon had seemed like an inexplicable personal threat because it _was_ a personal threat – just not personal to Rubowski.

There was just one thing puzzling him.

"But why would anyone want to kill you?" Loki asked the twins.

They grimaced. "Well … let's say we may have pissed off someone _pretty_ powerful with our U-NO-POO range."

Loki was impressed. Not only were they first-class tricksters, they also had guts.

"We're really sorry about your friend," added the other twin. "You see … there's a sort of war brewing here, and everyone's in danger. He shouldn't have been dragged into it, though. That was our enemy being sloppy."

Loki nodded understandingly. He was far too familiar with that situation.

"Can we … could we ask for your help in finding the real murderer?" one twin asked, a little tentatively. "We know we're in danger now, so we want to find this guy … and you might have a personal interest."

Loki considered. Did he have a personal interest in finding the killer? Maybe he did. It wouldn't hurt to get close to the owners of this joke shop, either. There was a lot of stuff here that he had never seen before in his life, either on Asgard or on Earth.


	5. Friday

**Friday**

The next day dawned cloudy, humid and hot. Loki, looking out of the window of his hotel room, winced at the thought of what the ants were up to in his New York house. Oh well. There was nothing he could do, and he might as well focus on catching the murderer while he was here. He pulled on his grey armour, green cape and horned helmet, thinking that female clothes were all very well but it was a great relief to be back in this outfit.

A few hours later, he was waiting for the Weasley twins in the Leaky Cauldron. They had decided to meet the next day to discuss the murder, when the Weasleys could arrange for their other employees to look after the shop.

Loki sat down at the bar and was treated to a look of suspicion from the barman – suspicion that only deepened when he asked for his favourite summertime drink, a blackberry-flavoured sparkling water. Why did barmen always react like that, anyway? Was it so strange a drink for a grown god?

The Weasley twins entered the pub from the door that led to the yard and the alley full of shops, looking wary. They peered around the dingy pub, expressions changed from wariness to puzzlement. They looked around the pub again, checking every face, then looked at each other, seemingly bemused.

Loki suppressed a grin as he realized what was confusing them. They were looking for Loki, and he was present … just in a slightly _different_ form.

Before he could decide whether to step forward and introduce himself or sit back and watch the show unfold, the twins had stepped towards him and said in unison, "Hi, Loki."

"Y'know, I could've sworn you were a girl last time we met," one of them said conversationally as he sat on a barstool. "Get me a Butterbeer, will you, Fred?"

"It's amazing how first impressions can fool you," the other twin said, taking his drink and coming to sit on the other side of Loki. "So, what can we do for you, Mr Loki?"

Loki blinked. He was surrounded. By a couple of scoundrels who had seen through his disguise _and_ were managing the conversation like they were in charge. His estimation of the Weasleys went up a couple of notches.

"I believe we'd agreed to solve a murder together, gentlemen. I must admit – I've got no idea who the murderer might be … but then, you're more likely to be acquainted with him than I am." Loki winced inwardly. _Great second impression, Loke_, he thought. _A stammering blunderer who can't do his homework_.

The twins exchanged a look over his head. "Right," one of them said. "We've got a few suspects, but none totally solid."

"We do have a winner in the suspicion stakes, though. A man called Lucius Malfoy. He's got a grudge against our family – we're always making life difficult for him. We have … different political alignments."

Loki raised his eyebrows. The other twin elaborated, "_Very_ different political alignments."

"Anyway, he's been acting suspicious lately," the first Weasley continued. "He came into the shop and he wouldn't normally be seen dead there. Needling away at us about our finances."

"Git," the other added idly.

"Malfoy always boasts about his dirty work; it's his flaw," he continued. "We thought he was just being a prick, but we think now he might have been checking if we were still alive."

"Bet he got a right shock when he saw us alive and kicking," the other twin added wryly.

"I wish we had been. Malfoy needs a good kick."

"So," Loki said, "shall we pay this Malfoy a visit? Or what do you propose we do?"

The twins exchanged a look. "We think so," one of them said. "We'd also like to invite someone else. He's in the Ministry of – er – he'll give us an alibi for forcing entry into Malfoy's manor."

_Ministry of what?_ Loki wondered. But he decided to let it go. This place was obviously full of secrets and he didn't want to scare the Weasleys off.

"Er, well – here he is!" one of them said, with a forced kind of smile, nodding towards yet another red-haired man entering the pub. Loki restrained himself from rolling his eyes with extreme difficulty. This was getting ridiculous.

The man was much taller, thinner and older than the twins. His hair was thinning and he was wearing long green robes which were heavily patched and darned. Loki's lip curled a little at having to associate with a man dressed as shabbily as _this_.

"Hi, Dad!" the twins greeted the man. "Thanks for taking time off today. This is Loki. He's the one whose friend was murdered. We've just explained to him that Lucius Malfoy's our suspect and he agrees. You ready to pay him a visit now?"

The older Weasley took in Loki, from the tips of the horns on his helmet to his polished black shoes. His thin red eyebrows rose a little, but he didn't seem overly surprised. "All right boys, shall we set off then?"

Loki drained his sparkling water and set off towards the door. Behind him, he heard someone grab someone else's arm and mutter "Not Floo, Dad, he's a Muggle, remember?" He looked back to see Weasley facing the fireplace. He quickly turned around and they all proceeded out to the crowded street outside.

_More mysteries_, he reflected. Would they ever be solved?

* * *

It took a very long time to reach Lucius Malfoy's house. It was located in a remote part of the English countryside that took innumerable buses and trains to reach. The Weasleys were strangely baffled by the processes of buying train tickets and paying bus drivers, something that Loki didn't really notice as he used public transport so rarely, preferring to cycle. By the time the journey had stretched into four hours and they had been through three different bus and train stations, they were all muttering darkly about "Muggles", "Portkeys", "Floo" and "Side-Along Apparition – he'd soon forget, Dad!". Loki pretended to be immersed in the unchanging landscape outside the window, but he was alive with curiosity.

Finally, after walking two miles from the nearest bus stop, they stood outside an impressive pair of wrought-iron gates. Loki gazed unmoved upon this edifice, not even blinking when a snow-white peacock stuck its head out between the bars and honked at them. The Weasley twins jumped, but their father seemed to know what to expect. He knocked on the gate.

Five seconds later, a very strange-looking creature had appeared next to them with a CRACK. It had huge eyes, as green as the perfectly-trimmed hedge lining Malfoy's property, and very large, kidney-shaped ears. It seemed to be wearing some kind of pillowcase. It was about twice the height of the peacock that had honked at them. It stared at the Weasleys.

The twins' father stepped forward and announced, "Arthur Weasley from the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, here to see Mr Lucius Malfoy on criminal charges."

The small … thing … blinked and hesitated.

"Don't even think about locking us out," Weasley warned, "we've got a warrant and your master isn't as popular in the Ministry as he once was."

The creature closed its massive eyes and disappeared with another CRACK.

"What –" Loki began.

"That was Malfoy's servant," one of the twins said quellingly. "They're normal for men like him."

The gates swung open and they entered onto a sweeping gravel drive, surrounded by lush green lawns, broken up artfully by manicured hedges, beds full of exotic and fragrant flowers and more spotlessly white peacocks. The Weasleys marched straight ahead with looks of disgust on their faces, but Loki, walking slightly behind them, gazed around admiringly. This Malfoy really knew how to live.

The peacocks on the tall hedge to their right strutted and cooed as they passed. The cooing seemed calming at first, but seemed to become louder, more annoying and more immediate as they progressed up the drive. A _lot_ more immediate, actually … and it didn't really sound like cooing any more … more like … hooting? _Familiar_ hooting?

Struck by an awful possibility, Loki started hunting through his pockets. The Weasleys turned and stared at him just as he reached into the hidden pocket in his green cape and found …

Pigwidgeon.

Loki and the Weasleys stared at the tiny, fluffy owl. The thing kept hooting shrilly, apparently convinced that the peacocks were trying to communicate with him. Loki could not understand how Pigwidgeon could have followed him here: he must have sneaked out of his fridge, stowed away in his luggage _and_ found his way into his hidden cape pocket (which was _very_ hidden). What were the chances of that?

Loki looked at the Weasleys. The twins were goggling at him. He found his voice. "I – I have no idea –"

"Just put the owl away and come on," Weasley said in a bored-sounding voice. "Malfoy would have a field day if that thing started bullying us."

They came to a flight of steps leading up to the front door of an impressive and ancient-looking mansion. The windows in the solid limestone walls were diamond-paned and glittered faintly in the muggy light. The door itself was huge, oak and stained with age.

Loki stuffed Pigwidgeon into his pocket and kept the squirming owl inside with one hand. The occasional chirp and hoot issued from his stomach, but he thought he might get away with it if the conversation kept flowing.

_Judging by the state of Weasley's robes and Malfoy's expansive estate, it probably won't_, he thought gloomily.

The door swung open as they approached and revealed a tall man with long white-blonde hair, dressed in expensive-looking black robes and holding a black cane topped with a serpent's head. As the Weasleys climbed the stairs, Loki just behind them, the man spoke.

"Weasley. Back again? I'm afraid there's nothing to find in my manor for your office – what is it again? Illegal peddling? I'm surprised you don't have to arrest yourself."

A taut smirk spread across Malfoy's face. Weasley's expression became strained.

"Actually, we didn't want to talk to you about that," one of the twins said.

"We wanted to talk about murder."

Malfoy's expression didn't change, although he had stopped smirking. Loki felt it was time he stepped in. They were clearly dealing with a master of crime-hiding. He shouldered his way to the front of the group, enjoying Malfoy's look of surprise.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, murder. Murder of a man who looked just like Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley here."

A flicker of realization crossed Malfoy's face, but he didn't speak.

"The man you murdered was an acquaintance of mine. Care to explain yourself?"

"I apologize for killing your friend," Malfoy said, with no hint of repentance in his face. He was watching Loki calculatingly, clearly trying to work out what approach to take. Loki remained impassive. He sure as hell wasn't going to give any hints – not when he didn't know what the appropriate hints would be. "I hope you can appreciate that no harm was meant to him or you. And as for you, Weasley," (his face twisted into a sneer), "your family is, unfortunately, still alive and breathing and consuming your meagre salary. This affair, therefore, has nothing to do with _you_. Please remove yourself and your sons from my doorstep."

The older Weasley's ears went red and his mouth went tight, apparently to bite back whatever he wanted to say; eventually he said "Goodbye, Malfoy," turned, and made his way back along the gravelled drive with the twins.

Loki was left facing Malfoy on his own. To his surprise, Malfoy bowed and asked him "Would you care for some tea?"

"Certainly," Loki replied.

Malfoy called "Flippy!", slightly startling Loki, but it seemed that this strange command hadn't been meant for him. The strange creature that had appeared outside the gates appeared again, with another resounding CRACK.

"Tea, Flippy," Malfoy told the thing. "For myself and this gentleman. Use my favourite tea set. My own invention."

The creature bowed and disappeared (CRACK).

Malfoy turned to Loki and, with a "Would you care to join me in the parlour?", Loki found himself being led into a spacious and beautifully decorated room. The overall theme appeared to be green and silver – the floor was carpeted in palest grey, while the chairs, sofas and curtains were a delicate sea-green, speckled with tiny silver roses. A grand piano stood unobtrusively in the corner, with a silver candelabra shaped like an undulating snake resting on top of it.

Loki stepped into the room, clamping a hand over his hidden pocket to suppress a tiny hoot. "Beautiful room, Mr Malfoy," he said.

"I designed it, actually," Malfoy said, clearly bursting with pride. "I knew you were a man who appreciates fine design, Mr …?"

"Loki."

"Mr Loki. What else could you be, with such a finely tailored grey suit, that beautiful forest-green woolen cloak, and of course, that _magnificent_ helmet? Let me congratulate you on that, by the way. I don't think I'd have to courage to wear such a daring accessory in public. But you can pull it off ... Perhaps it's something to do with your bone structure, or the contrast between your dark hair, pale skin and green eyes … or it could be your bearing. One could almost call it kingly."

"Godly, actually," Loki interjected before he could stop himself.

"Of course."

At this point, Flippy entered with the tea. A few more quiet hoots issued from his cloak as Flippy poured tea for himself and Malfoy from a silver teapot with a spout fashioned like a snake. The snake's tiny green eyes glinted as it appeared to vomit their tea into silver cups. He couldn't imagine how Malfoy would react if his puffball of an owl worked his way out of the cloak and into the room.

Malfoy was flattering him, thought Loki, and it was working. Part of him was purring with all the well-deserved praise being heaped upon him. But he had to keep _focused_. And he had to get out of there quickly, before Pigwidgeon was discovered.

Quelling the part of him that wanted to discuss the trials and tribulations of finding a good helmet manufacturer, Loki said, "So. The murder. Who were you really targeting?"

"Why, the Weasleys, of course."

"And why should I believe that?"

"Because I say so, and I'm telling the truth. I've always been sickened by those Weasleys. Can't keep track of their money or their children, and they're blood traitors to boot. But those … _purple posters_ were really the last straw. How they dare to disrespect the Dark Lord …"

It certainly made more sense for Malfoy to target the Weasleys, Loki mused, as the loudest hoot yet issued from his pocket, luckily inaudible over Malfoy's rantings. But there was just one thing that didn't make sense …

"Why did you dump the body in New York?"

"Is that where it ended up? To be honest, that was a coincidence. Only a matter of wanting to get it as far away from England as possible on the cheapest long-distance Portkey. You see, I, unlike some people, can manage my money."

Loki mulled it over, sipping his tea. It was horrible. The things mortals drank. Malfoy's explanation made sense, but then he was a smart man, and smart men's explanations generally did make sense – whether they were telling the truth or not.

A clearly audible twittering issued from his nether regions. Loki pretended to be rearranging his position in the chair, while actually trying to squish Pigwidgeon into silence between his back and the rose-patterned velvet. To his horror, he actually felt the owl slide out of his pocket, like a slippery bar of soap squeezed between two palms.

Malfoy seemed not to have noticed anything. His expression bland, he said, "Whether you believe me or not, what I've told you is true. I can appreciate that you might be a little sceptical, however. It's only prudent … How about we settle this another way? I'm sure you've heard that the Malfoys are one of the most affluent pure-blood families around."

Loki was hardly listening, all his attention fixed on the squirming sensation at his lower back and the problem of getting the damned owl back into the pocket _before he stood up_. However, what he heard did penetrate his brain, and what he understood was _affluent_.

Loki didn't lack for money; he was a god, after all. But what he didn't have was the money of this strange society that Malfoy and the Weasleys belonged to. And he wanted it. He was pretty sure that he wasn't going to get much in that joke shop without paying.

"That sounds perfect, Mr Malfoy," Loki said, forcing a smile to his lips, just as Pigwidgeon forced his way out of his cloak.

"I'll just fetch a purse, then, shall –"

And Pigwidgeon erupted. With an ear-splitting hoot, he zoomed out from where he had been wedged between Loki's side and the chair's armrest. He did a couple of bouncing laps of the coffee table, twittering in a triumphant kind of way, then flapped up to land on Loki's head, pecking him lightly on the nose in retaliation for his imprisonment.

Loki was frozen. He had no idea how to explain this. For all Malfoy knew, a tiny, fluffy and very cute – wait, no, very _annoying_. Did he say very _cute_? How silly of him – had just exploded from his backside. He stared at Malfoy with his mouth open, Pigwidgeon's tufty tail feathers hanging in his eyes.

"That's quite all right, Mr Loki, I know how they can get when they're cooped up back there," Malfoy smiled courteously. "I would suggest you get a better-trained owl, though. Like mine, for example." He reached behind his robes and pulled out a regal and slightly ruffled-looking tawny owl the length of his forearm. Stroking the owl's head, he smiled at Loki, tucked it back behind his robes and left the room.

Loki shut his mouth and followed him out of the room, Pigwidgeon hooting in a self-satisfied sort of way and nibbling on his eyebrows. He noticed, as he followed Malfoy to the front door, that there was no sign of the tawny owl from the back of Malfoy's robes. He frowned in confusion.

At the door, Malfoy snapped his fingers, and Flippy ran up holding an incredibly big and medieval-looking purse of coins. The thing was almost as big as Malfoy's owl. Malfoy passed it to Loki and opened the door for him, bowing courteously.

"Do call again, Mr Loki. I would love to know where you got that helmet made, and the name of your tailor, of course. I'm sure my son Draco would also practically _salivate_ to know what brand of hair gel you use."

Loki left in a kind of daze, treading on a indignant peacock at the bottom of the steps. _Where_ did Malfoy keep that poor owl? And, on second thoughts, did he really want to know?


	6. Saturday

**Saturday**

Loki awoke to a gentle breeze, which was caressing his face and making his curtains flap gently. At first, he scowled at the interruption of his slumber, but then he spotted the huge bag of gold on his bedside table and flipped upright out of bed, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. He had money! Money that, by the amount and weight of it, could probably buy all he could possibly want in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and then some!

He dressed, grabbed the purse and exited the hotel in short order. The day was fresh and breezy, the sun hidden behind a uniform layer of pearly cloud. Loki felt safe to venture out in a thick layer of scientifically-advanced sunblock, reckoning that he would be spending most of his time inside anyway. His skin had the hue of freshly-bleached flour and glowed like the moon as he strode along the street, but Loki didn't notice or care about the way observant passers-by were looking at him. He was too elated at the thought of finally getting to examine every shelf, bin and packet in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!

One downside of elation, however, is a bad sense of direction. Several hours later, Loki's good mood had evaporated, but he had, by a huge stroke of luck, actually found the Leaky Cauldron. Entering, he endured the usual look of suspicion from the barman, and slipped through the archway in the yard behind a gaggle of chattering hags, who were discussing the advantages and disadvantages of eating certain breeds of owl. Loki pictured Pigwidgeon reduced to a couple of shrunken fillets and two thigh bones on an expanse of plate, shuddered and moved on.

The alley was as he remembered it – cobblestoned and somewhat dismal, with boarded-up shops on either side and the only people there rushing past with their heads down. Loki copied them, staring intently at his feet and the stones they stepped upon. He soon arrived at the vibrant display of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Stepping inside, he relaxed completely.

The place was crammed – utterly crammed – with objects of every shape, size and colour, carefully stacked on shelves reaching all the way up to the roof, which was several metres above Loki's reach. Below the shelves and scattered around the shop were crates, baskets, bins and cages of other delights. Loki saw signs reading 'Trick Wands', 'Pygmy Puffs' and 'Canary Creams' before he was swept into the heaving tide of people that filled every spare corner of floor space. He let himself be carried along, content to observe for the time being.

The first thing he saw was a cage full of tiny purplish-green creatures that looked like a cross between a dolphin, a crocodile and Yoshi. They had small, blunt noses, tiny eyes that were set wide apart, smiling mouths, long, flexible bodies and stubby legs and tails. One of them sat up on its hanches and yawned, rubbing its eyes, and Loki was able to see that it had no teeth. A shallow food bowl in the corner of the cage was piled high with chocolate Bourbons. A sign above the cage proclaimed ' The Baby Dinosaur: your friendly companion through thick and thin! Guaranteed to turn all owl-, toad- or cat-owning friends green with envy. His adorable toothless nibble will put a smile on anyone's face. He's also an art guru – watch him produce masterpieces with only his nose, limbs, tail and a pot of Weasleys' Edible Colour-Change Paint!'

The current of people moved on around the shop and Loki was dazzled by a blaze of pink. The sign on the front of the display read 'Wonder Witch' in stylized pink cursive. There were charms to tailor clothes to fit exactly ('depending on the concentration levels and wand skills of the user!'), pads to cushion your high heels ('feel six inches shorter!'), Invisible No-Shine Sun Creams (Loki immediately grabbed several of these and hugged them to his chest protectively), stacks and stacks of Colour-Change Cosmetics and a long rack of bottles that appeared to be love potions.

Moving on, Loki was confronted with the household section – Teleporting Utensils ('always in the last place she looks!'), Sneaky Scrubbers ('will make more mess as soon as your back is turned!'), Birthday Sparkler Candles, Fizz Flour, Sour Sugar and an intriguing box marked 'Exciting Cake – cut it open and you'll see what we mean! Different charm in each cake'. There was an array of different-shaped moulds which promised to make moving miniatures of dragons, sphinxes, owls, broomsticks and sharks, which Loki immediately snapped up for use with the Casket of Ancient Winters. He couldn't resist a device called 'Thirty-Second Ice Cream Maker – combine cream, sugar, milk and any other ingredient you like (and we mean anything), press the button, and the result will be an edible, though not necessarily pleasant, frozen experience'.

The school section came next, with Skiving Snackboxes of every kind and Patented Daydream Charms. Loki soon left this area. He had no need of distraction when his own life was so exciting already.

Next came a stand topped with a sign: 'Pet Problems – Ever worry your rat/cat/toad/owl is too boring? Worry no more!' The biggest seller appeared to be a book entitled 'Are You Sure That's A Real Spell? 50 Simple Charms to Liven Up Your Pet and Its Surroundings'. There were tiny cloaks and hats made for owls, cats, rats and toads and toys that flashed, banged and popped to keep them occupied. Most of the stuff was too big for Pigwidgeon, but Loki bought him a few boxes of 'Special Effects Owl Treats – Send Your Owl Bouncing to the Moon, Turn Him Into A Fire-Breathing Monster, And Much More!'

The mass of people surged on to something with a banner bearing the slogan 'U-NO-POO', but Loki had heard enough of that product to last him at least another year. He elbowed his way out of the crowd and slipped through a small and unobtrusive door beside a stack of Exciting Cakes into a smaller, less crowded room. Looking around him, he saw piles of navy, black and grey hats and cloaks marked JINX SHIELDS. Continuing into the room, in which there were only two sombre browsers in pinstriped cloaks, he saw things that looked like … rubber hooters with legs. Legs which they were exercising – they were all trying to walk off the shelves!

Amazed, Loki grabbed a few, just in case they were all gone when he came back to collect his purchases, and continued on to see rows of black tubs with silver writing proclaiming them to be 'Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder'. An evil grin played across Loki's face. Here was something much better than itching powder to put in Thor's pants …

* * *

An hour later, Loki left the shop with bags hanging off his elbows, hands, neck and one shoulder. He wished he had his bike, with its sturdy panniers and handlebars. He wasn't in a mood to complain, however, not with the amount of new mischief-making merchandise he had just purchased. He had cleaned the shop out of anything that had particularly interested him and bought a fair amount of other stuff besides.

Setting off down the street, not bothering to rush or look down at his feet, Loki stroked the head of the tiny dolphin-crocodile-Yoshi creature perched on the shoulder that wasn't supporting a bag. He had decided to name it Christian. "Let's take you home to meet Pigwidgeon, shall we?" he crooned to Christian, who was nibbling his ear. "I'm sure you'll be the best of friends …"

**THE END**

**Author's Note:** So, we made it to the end of this fairly short journey! I'll leave it up to your imaginations where Pigwidgeon and Christian got on or not ... Please review, I'd love to know what you think!


End file.
